The Dissociative Personsality
by Rinaty
Summary: Since the moment he was created, Gilbert's sole purpose has been to protect Ludwig. Now, however, he has nothing to do other than think back on his existence while he waits for the end of the blond's. Human/AU/ One-Shot


**The Dissociative Identity**

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Gilbert laid his back against the rough wooden wall, knowing that he would die in the morning. His side ached with every shift he made, the stitches there pulling roughly at the puffy, angry skin. He had forced the needle through the flesh with sweat gliding down his face in unplanned lines and a rolled piece of cloth clenched between his teeth. There wasn't a chance he would ever allow Ludwig to know just how much pain he was in.

Snow white hands toyed with blond locks; Gilbert smiled softly at the head resting in his lap. For all of Ludwig's life, he had been around to protect him from everything he did not need to worry over and anything he did not deserve to feel. Of course, the fact that the boy hardly ever realized he was around did not matter much. Gilbert was too secure in the knowledge that he was always the one to keep the boogeyman at bay, that he never paid attention to whether or not Ludwig noticed him.

A single finger broke away from the sweat matted hair to trace a thin scar, following it from the young man's temple over the curl of his cheek, and underneath his chin. Gilbert knew that the scar's twin was upon his own face; it had been a gift from Ludwig's father some years ago. The fat, drunk had signed up his only son for the military in a bout of 'patriotism.' When Ludwig had began to argue back, unwilling to abandon his mostly defeated mother to the monster standing before him, his father had struck out.

Gilbert was still unsure where the man had found the blade, but that had been the last time the drunk ever raised his hand to anyone. No, he hadn't made Ludwig's father 'see the light' or any such thing; he had simply removed the man's hand. Oh, Gil still recalled the sticky warmth that had covered Ludwig's arm's and face. That had been the first time he had ever taken over the youth's body.

He had remained unconscious in the back of Ludwig's head after that, only awakening when the blond's fear managed to reach him. It was both surprising and utterly expected that Gilbert found himself in a trench, somewhere in French territory. Despite the fact that he was accused of chopping off his father's hand, Ludwig had still been sent out into the war; Germany was just that desperate.

The scent of rotting flesh, living and dead, was forever seared in his memory with such stomach turning clarity. He had wanted nothing more than to crawl up the earth wall before him and make a run for it. Gilbert knew, however, that doing so would ensure the death of the boy he protected. Dismissing that idea, he had pulled his gun closer to Ludwig's chest; careful not to tip his boots the handful of centimeters the water needed to slip inside.

In the year that followed, the boy only returned to his body five times and these where only when Gilbert became too exhausted to keep the act up. He knew that the blond was worried about the large gaps in his memory, but it truly was for the best. As Gil learned to deal with the fatigue, he began to keep control for longer periods. Soon, Gil became Lud, and Ludwig became Gilbert.

Serving in the German army was not as it might have once been. There had been no honor or prestige to be earned from slaughtering the weak. The only thing Gilbert gained were nightmares of the child clinging to his pant leg, begging for him to save her. That, however, had not been his order and to not do his 'duty' would put his blond in danger. It was in the vain hope that Ludwig would survive the war that he placed the barrel of his pistol to the skull of the child.

No matter how much he claimed that 'what-if's were stupid, Gil could not help wondering if Ludwig would be in so much danger now if he simply stayed away.

The morning's first rays washed over them from the too small window, but Gilbert never so much as glanced at it. His eyes were pinned to the poorly barricaded door that stood between them and capture. He had heard that the German's were on the brink of surrendering; the allies had won. This bit of news did nothing to keep their fate from being sealed.

Gilbert looked down at the young man again, and moved his thigh to the side, revealing that Ludwig actually rested upon his rolled up coat. At the root of it all, Gil was no more real than that image in the corner of your eye when the lights go out. His pale fist did not cast a shadow, nor did the aged hardwood below him groan under his weight when he stood. The familiar smell of smoke curled around his head. Out there, beyond the four walls that boxed them in, the Allies had finally decided to simply torch the place.

The need to scream or throw something was suffocating. Gilbert could do nothing to relieve his frustration without waking up Ludwig and that youth deserved to sleep through his own death. For the shortest of moments, he wondered what had happened to the other soldiers they had been running with, but the sight of sweat forming along Ludwig's brow derailed that train of thought.

Gilbert knelled beside the blond's head, unable to feel the heat himself. He should have ran away that night a week ago. When his squad leader had ordered him to watch detail with that light hearted Italian-turned-German, he could have made a break for it. The Italian lad had quickly grown attached to Ludwig during the time Gilbert was resting and he most likely would have let him go.

When he had pulled his leg close in preparation to spring to his feet, however, his body had resisted. Ludwig had rebelled against the idea of abandoning the seemingly innocent Italian to his fellow Germans; he had demanded that they stay. Now, Gilbert wondered if the blond would still feel the same. The Italian was lost somewhere in the nearby forest and Ludwig was trapped in a burning house.

Black smoke hung just above the blond's ear, hovering over him as the flames stole what little oxygen remained. Pale hands shook as Gilbert stopped fighting back the angry tears; unmoving as they stole down his dirt smudged cheeks. He watched as Ludwig's back arched, blue eyes snapping open as he gasped for breath that was no longer there. Ludwig searched the room until he spotted the door through where Gilbert was sitting. He scrambled to his feet, not taking note of his injury until the movement tore several of the stitches.

Gilbert flinched, pressing against his own side as blood began to spill from it. He was distracted when a not quite as pale hand reached out to him. Ludwig was slowly pulling himself along the ground to the door and Gil might have thought he was otherwise fine if not for the fear pinching the blond's brow or the pain twisting his lips. He wondered how long it took someone to die from smoke inhalation: two minutes, five minutes, or ten.

All Gilbert wanted was for the time to finally come so that he did not have to watch the youth suffer any longer. Ludwig pressed himself against the door with his hand reaching for the door handle they both knew was there. Without conscious thought, Gilbert crawled forward until he was curled almost protectively around the other. Ludwig's movements quickly became sluggish until his hand finally stopped moving.

Gilbert pressed his face into the back of the blond's shoulders. He did not struggle against the inky dark that tried to pull him into its depths; he merely surrendered. The last thing Gilbert saw was Ludwig's dead fingers wrapped around the door handle and he was glad that the youth did not realized the door was barricaded. He was glad that the blond had died with a hint of hope in his heart.

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**Author's Note:** I hope you guys understood what I did there. Ludwig has split personalities and Gilbert is the other personality. Takes place back in WWII.


End file.
